I’m No Chickenshit

The view from up here is impressive, serene. The bridge needs a paint job – the light blue is turning a rusty brown – but it’s still a great view of the modern skyline. The bright sun glimmers off the tops of the mirrored buildings. I wonder if they’ll see me from there?

I wish she could see me now. Nothing on this bridge except my body and the pack on my back. Probably all I ever needed in life. I didn’t need her. “Why won’t you yell at that creditor? Our bill was only a bit late,” she’d say. “That guy grabbed my ass. Go beat him up,” she’d command. “You’re such a chickenshit,” she’d yell as I stood there, blank, content to watch her stew. Stewing myself.

Would a chickenshit leave her like I did yesterday? The house. The car. The kids. I don’t need a coffin filled with overly-expensive trinkets. I’d rather ride a bike, maybe a chopper. Take the kids. You’ll probably pit them against me anyway.

I’m no chickenshit. I wasn’t yesterday and I’m certainly not now. The water looks refreshing from this height. I think it said about one hundred feet on Wikipedia. It’ll be a relief from this sweat.

Geronimo!

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About mattdevir

I live with my wife – and inspiration – in Point Pleasant, New Jersey. I have written and produced television shows for The Discovery Channel, TLC, HGTV, and Baby First Television. In addition to reading my work here, you can also find it on Fictionaut.com, Istanbul Literary Review, and Pure Slush. I have many nicknames – Benny, Baber, and Beaver being the most popular. Every now and then someone calls me Faber. Feel free to use any of those. I understand my last name is a bit tough.
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